


Heavy Leaf to Turn

by quoth_the_ravenclaw



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, College, Eventual Happy Ending, Growing Apart, Growing Up, It's gonna get worse before it gets better my friends, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quoth_the_ravenclaw/pseuds/quoth_the_ravenclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I think I’m actually going to miss it,” Oikawa confesses. He’s spent most of his life working hard to make it out of their sleepy little town, and now that he’s finally leaving, he can’t help but feel it’s all happening too soon. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Iwaizumi leans over and knocks him in the shoulder. “It’s too early in the morning to be getting sentimental,” He says. But when he looks at Oikawa, his gaze is gentle, eyes the softest green. Oikawa’s breath hitches, warmth shooting through him just from the slightest touch of shoulder on shoulder, and he turns his head so Iwaizumi won’t see the sudden tears in his eyes.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oikawa goes off to college. For the first time in their lives, Iwaizumi doesn't follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Leaf to Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Portugal by Walk The Moon. I invite you all to listen to it and scream with me.
> 
> This is gonna be a long ride, folks. Please mind the tags, which will be updated with every chapter.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Because you love me?” Oikawa replies. “And because I brought coffee?”

It’s 6 am on a Saturday, and they’re loading boxes into the truck they got on loan from Iwaizumi’s father’s construction business. Well, Iwaizumi is loading. Oikawa is mostly watching. ( _What?_ It’s not his fault his best friend looks so good in the light of the early morning sun, muscles bulging and skin shining with a faint sheen of sweat. God, he’s even wearing one of those dumb muscle tanks with arm holes halfway down his ribs. If Oikawa cranes his neck just right, he can see the dusky peak of a nipple as Iwaizumi heaves another box into the bed of the truck.)

“Oi, your face is all red,” Iwaizumi says.

“Sunburn!” Oikawa replies hastily. Too hastily, he realizes, when Iwaizumi furrows his brows at him.

“I don’t know how you’re burnt when I’m the one actually doing all the work.”

“My flawless skin is more delicate than yours, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says. Two seconds later he’s hit in the face with a tube of sunscreen.

“Put that on and help me, asshole. After all, it’s your stuff we’re moving.”

It’s the last full week of March, and Oikawa has spent it all preparing for the move to Tokyo: enrolling in classes, saying last goodbyes to his teammates, packing his entire life away.

Oikawa’s life, as it turns out, fits into five boxes, two suitcases, and one dufflebag. Last night he had sat in his barren childhood room, hunched over his laptop as he finalized his class roster and scrolled through old facebook albums. When his parents knocked on his door to say their goodnight, his father had surveyed the empty shelves and bare walls with a nod of approval.

_“It’s a good school,”_ He had said, placing an envelope filled with yen onto Oikawa’s desk. _“I expect you to excel there.”_

“What’s this one?” Iwaizumi asks as he picks up the last box. It’s different from the others, small and well taped. It’s the last one Oikawa packed. The others all have labels - desk, kitchen, bedroom, bath - written in Iwaizumi’s boxy script. This one only has a single, thick dash across the top.

“That one can go inside with us,” Oikawa says, hastily grabbing it. “I don’t want it to get tossed around.”

“Is it fragile?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa doesn’t answer, only hugs the box protectively to his chest. “I’ll keep it on my lap.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, weirdo.”

With the box settled, the truck is finally packed. They both take a step back to survey their work (well, Iwaizumi’s work) and bask in the quiet warmth of the morning. The street is deserted, the rest of the world still asleep, and for a moment they can simply _be_.

“I think I’m actually going to miss it,” Oikawa confesses. He’s spent most of his life working hard to make it out of their sleepy little town, and now that he’s finally leaving, he can’t help but feel it’s all happening too soon. 

Iwaizumi leans over and knocks him in the shoulder. “It’s too early in the morning to be getting sentimental,” He says. But when he looks at Oikawa, his gaze is gentle, eyes the softest green. Oikawa’s breath hitches, warmth shooting through him just from the slightest touch of shoulder on shoulder, and he turns his head so Iwaizumi won't see the sudden tears in his eyes.

“You’re right,” He says, voice purposefully light and cheerful. “Guess we better get going.”

\---

The drive to Tokyo is a little over four hours with good traffic and no breaks. 

_“I’d assumed you’d want to take the train. It’s much faster,_ ” His mother had said.

Oikawa had made an excuse of not being able to fit all his things into the paltry luggage allowance of the Shinkansen, but the truth is - 

“Oi, your taste in music sucks, change the station.”

\- he’d really just wanted a few more hours with Iwaizumi.

It’s probably selfish, making him drive all the way, only to have to turn around and go back, but Oikawa has long ago stopped trying to tame his selfishness when it comes to Hajime.

\---

The drive ends up taking almost six hours, due to a restroom break halfway through and Oikawa’s utter inability to navigate in Tokyo traffic. By the time they finally find the Todai campus and get his things in some semblance of “unpacked,” it’s well past noon.

Oikawa throws open the window of the tiny living room slash dining room slash kitchen and leans out of it, eyes darting about. “Iwa-chan, come look!”

Iwaizumi snorts. “At what?”

Admittedly, the view isn’t stellar, just the brick facade of the apartment building next door, but from here Oikawa can hear the hum of traffic below, the faint whir of the train in the distance, the rhythmic beep of the pedestrian lights. He should be exhausted from the drive, but the sheer vitality of the city above and below and all around him has him high, thrumming with excitement over the thrill of fresh starts and new adventures.

“Well, I should get going,” Iwaizumi says.

And just like that, Oikawa is crashing back to the ground again.

“What? So soon? You’ve barely-”

“It’s a long drive.” Iwaizumi says.

He can’t go. Not yet. The apartment is too empty without him, the city too new. All at once all the things that were fresh and exciting suddenly turn dark and scary. Oikawa was never supposed to be facing them alone. Iwaizumi was supposed to be _here with him_.

“Get lunch with me,” Oikawa says.

“I can’t-”

“You said yourself it’s a long drive. It’s irresponsible to do it on an empty stomach. What would Oba-san say?”

“Mom expects me back for dinner,” Iwaizumi argues, even as his stomach lets out a loud grumble.

“I found a place that has a five star rating on yelp,” Oikawa says. “And look! Just one dollar sign!”

“Oikawa...”

“Their specialty dish is agedashi tofu,” Oikawa sing songs, waving his phone tauntingly in front of Iwaizumi’s face. Iwaizumi bats it away with a huff.

“You’d probably get mugged without me anyways,” He says, which in Iwaizumi-talk is a resounding yes.

“Yay!” Oikawa cheers, grabbing his wallet and doing a celebratory spin out the door. “Last one outside pays!”

\---

“Think your roommate will be moved in by the time we get back?”

Oikawa shrugs, sipping from his bubble tea. Iwaizumi had indeed paid for lunch after his embarrassing loss in their impromptu race. He hadn’t even complained about it when he pulled out his wallet at the end of their meal, so afterwards Oikawa insisted on stopping at the cafe around to corner and treating them both to drinks. (It definitely hadn’t been a stall for more time.)

When they step back outside, the sky is overcast, and rising wind throws Oikawa’s hair in disarray. What had started as a warm sunny day is turning cool and grey, and Oikawa is beginning to wish he had opted for a hot latte like Iwaizumi.

“What’s his name, anyways?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi frowns. “That sounds familiar…”

“He was captain for a team in Tokyo.”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t they play against Karasuno at Nationals?”

Oikawa hums and nods. “There wasn’t anything particularly outstanding about their defense or offense, but even so, they were...”

“Synchronized. They adapted well,” Iwaizumi finishes for him. The discussion feels like the way they would prep for their own matches, Oikawa scrutinizing their opponents for weaknesses and Iwaizumi adding his own thoughts. The familiarity of it warms Oikawa’s stomach and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with a longing for his own teammates, for the sound of locker doors slamming shut and the feeling of a volleyball against his palm. It’s dumb, he knows. He has a new team - a _good_ one - with rigorous practices and a high reputation, a chance to prove himself to the whole nation -

But it doesn’t have Iwaizumi.

“Their setter was good,” Iwaizumi says. He’s giving Oikawa an expectant look, waiting for him to rise to the bait.

Instead, Oikawa merely shrugs. “He was.”

And they had been. Oikawa remembers them: a short, unassuming thing that seemed at odds with the rest of his boisterous team. But he read them well, adjusted seamlessly to the endless curves Karasuno threw their way, always stayed a step ahead. He’d be a formidable opponent.

Far in the distance, thunder cracks.

Iwaizumi frowns at him, and Oikawa realizes that not only has he been brooding, but that he’s been so transparent about it that even Iwaizumi has noticed. He looks downs, and the straw to his tea is all flat, teeth marks warping it beyond use.

“Not as good as me, of course,” He adds lamely. It falls flat to both their ears.

\---

By the time they get back to the apartment, they are both wet and out of breath. The distant storm had suddenly opened overhead, and they had to run the last two blocks to avoid being totally soaked.

“Did we unpack the towels yet?” Oikawa asks as he tries to remember which key is the right one.

“Bathroom cabinet, top right,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa finally finds the right key with a little triumphant cheer, but when he goes to touch the handle, the door swings open, already unlocked.

“So he is here,” Iwaizumi says.

They are not greeted by Oikawa’s new roommate, but by a boy with two-tone hair perched cross legged on the coffee table.

“Hello!” Oikawa says with his megawatt smile. “You’re the setter from Nekoma! We haven’t been formally introduced yet.”

“Kuroo, your new roommate is here,” the other setter says without looking up from the game in his hands. Oikawa absolutely does not bristle at having his overwhelming charm completely ignored.

There’s a sound of clattering from the bedroom next to Oikawa’s, and then a head of dark hair peeks about from the door. 

“Kenma, did you say some-” Kuroo pauses when he spots them in the entryway, then straightens up to his full height. Next to him, Iwaizumi tenses, and Oikawa knows he’s calculating the height Kuroo has on both of them.

Kuroo eyes them both for a long, silent moment, before cracking a predatory smile. “Kuroo Tetsurou,” He says, slowly, deliberately. He slinks forward, hand outstretched. Oikawa is reminded of a jaguar stalking it’s prey. “You must be Oikawa.”

“Stop trying to intimidate him,” Kenma says, eyes never leaving the screen of his PSP.

Just like that, Kuroo deflates, turning to Kenma and pouting. “Aw, come on, I was just having fun.”

“You were being an ass,” Kenma says. 

Iwaizumi snorts and elbows Oikawa in the side. “Remind you of anybody?”

“Rude!”

Kuroo looks back at them. “I’m not sure if I should be offended…”

“That I’m comparing you to Shittykawa over here? Absolutely.”

Oikawa buries his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he twists a hand into his shirt. “Iwa-chan! So cruel! And on our last day together!”

“Stop whining,” Iwaizumi says, even as he pets a consoling hand through Oikawa’s hair. Kuroo watches them, his expression shifted from predatory to curious. Oikawa can feel his gaze on them, but he can’t be bothered to feel self conscious when he’s busy soaking up the feeling of Iwaizumi’s touch. He clenches his eyes shut and focuses on the solidity of Iwaizumi beneath him, the warmth he always seems to radiate and the way he effortlessly holds Oikawa up, even as he leans more weight on him. All of these things used to be certainties, a commodity Oikawa had the luxury of taking for granted. It’s jarring, the realization that their interactions are numbered now, and that with each passing moment, that number ticks down and down. Oikawa clenches his fist tighter in the cotton of Iwaizumi’s shirt, tries to think of the right words to make him stay a night, a week, a year -

“I’m headed out.”

It’s Kenma who speaks, but the words shoot an arrow through Oikawa’s heart regardless. His head snaps up to watch Kenma tuck his handheld into his bag.

“What? So soon?” Kuroo says.

Kenma shrugs. “Your stuff’s unpacked, and I finished my level.”

“My dearest, my Kenma, abandoning me,” Kuroo says, hand slapped over his heart, and Oikawa can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“You’ll literally see me tomorrow,” Kenma says with a roll of his eyes. He meets Oikawa’s gaze fleetingly, then Iwaizumi’s. “Nice to meet you,” he says and quickly slips out. Oikawa cranes his neck to watch him go, hand still clutching Iwaizumi’s shirt.

“I should get going too,” Iwaizumi says.

“Stay the night,” Oikawa counters immediately.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m sure your new roommate would love that.”

Kuroo shrugs. “Eh, it’s fine,” He says as he slumps onto the couch. “Just don’t make too much noise.” Kuroo waggles his eyebrows on his last comment and Oikawa feels his face go up in flames.

By some miraculous mercy, Iwaizumi carries on, oblivious. “No, really, my mom’s expecting me-”

“So text her.”

“And I need to get back for work-”

“You don’t start until Monday.”

“Oikawa-”

Outside, thunder cracks. The overhead light flickers briefly, as the sound of rain against the windowpane picks up, turning tumultuous. 

“It’s not safe to drive back like this,” Oikawa says.

Kuroo frowns. “Are you driving back alone?” He asks.

“All the way to Miyagi,” Oikawa confirms.

Kuroo whistles. “Yeah, dude, that’s no good.”

“I can handle myself,” Iwaizumi insists, even as he casts a doubtful look out the window.

“Aren’t I the one usually saying those kind of things?” Oikawa wheedles. Next to him, Iwaizumi huffs. “And aren’t you always the one telling me to stop being an idiot?”

“Seriously, man, stay the night. It’s cool,” Kuroo offers.

“You can leave in the morning,” Oikawa says. “We can get breakfast!”

“Where am I going to sleep? I doubt either of you packed a guest futon.”

Oikawa frowns. “What do you mean?” 

Neither of them have bothered using a guest futon since they were in grade school. It was an inevitability: no matter if they started out separate, they always ended up curled together, Iwaizumi because of his penchant for clinging to things in his sleep (be they covers, the Godzilla plush he got for his eighth birthday, or Tooru), and Oikawa because of his penchant for cold toes and the irresistible warmth of his best friend. Even after they both hit growth spurts that made sharing a bed a perilous challenge, the guest futons of the Oikawa and Iwaizumi residences remained tucked away in the closet.

But now Iwaizumi won’t meet his eyes, and something like ice flushes through Oikawa. Iwaizumi is embarrassed of him. Of course he would be, when they’re in front of some stranger. Some stranger who probably thinks two guys their age sharing a bed is weird. (And it is, Oikawa has always known somewhere in the back of his brain. But then, their friendship has never been defined by regular standards, and Oikawa wasn’t about to let something as trivial as age or height or the way he’s in love with his best friend ruin that.)

“I packed extra sheets,” He finally says, voice forcibly light and cheery. (Iwaizumi may be able to see through it in an instant, but Oikawa’s not about to show even a scrap of vulnerability to Kuroo.) “I’ll sleep out here and you can have my bed.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed on your very first night in it,” Iwaizumi says. “Honestly, I’m fine to drive-”

“No!” Oikawa shouts. Lightning strikes, throwing the room into stark illumination for a split second, lighting up the shock in Iwaizumi’s face and the fear in Oikawa’s. Iwaizumi jolts at it, and Oikawa hates the raw edge of desperation that has crept into his voice. “Don’t go out like this. Take the couch, if you want, but stay the night. _Please_.”

It’s only with years of self-control, of slipping on masks and facades like pieces of armour, that Oikawa’s voice doesn’t break on the last word. He stares Iwaizumi down, eyes wide and desperate and _please please please_

“They better not be your dumb alien sheets,” Iwaizumi says. Oikawa almost sags with relief. 

On the couch, Kuroo coughs. “Well then, I’m gonna make some tea.” He shuffles off to the corner of the room that serves as their kitchen. It’s a crude farce of privacy, but Oikawa appreciates the gesture. Hesitantly, he wraps a hand around Iwaizumi’s wrist, ready for another rejection. Iwaizumi doesn’t flinch, however, just watches him with his steady gaze, and Oikawa lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He pulls Iwaizumi into his room while Kuroo hums and flips on the kettle.

\---

When Oikawa wakes up the next morning, Iwaizumi is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a pile of neatly folded sheets and a single yellow post it.

_Don’t be an idiot, you’re going to do great. Hajime._

Oikawa crushes it in his hand and throws it against the wall.

Later, after he’s picked himself up off the couch and wiped the tears from his eyes, he finds the note and delicately uncrumples it.

Quietly, he creeps into his room and finds the box he’d tucked away in his nightstand, the one with the single dash across the top. He peels away the tape and parts the flaps to look at the contents inside: photographs so old they’re smudged with fingerprints and starting to fade around the edges, bits of notebook paper folded up like tiny footballs and covered with Hajime’s handwriting, movie ticket stubs from midnight premieres and sci fi marathons, a spaceship keychain won from a crane machine years ago after several attempts, and a single, black button. Oikawa slips the post it in along all of these things, seals the box back up, and hides it away again.

**Author's Note:**

> I am definitely going to be guilty of westernizing certain elements of this story. The more I researched Japanese university, the less it fit into my plans for this fic, so eventually I just had to throw in the towel and accept that it's gonna be Americanized as hell. Sorry!
> 
> scream with me on tumblr @ quoth-the-ravenclaw


End file.
